


New Morning

by aph_england



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aph_england/pseuds/aph_england
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred had changed since returning home from the war. It takes a simple shower trick for him to recognise this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Morning

Alfred had been different ever since he had returned from the war. 

It wasn’t as though Arthur himself had been left wholly unaffected; loud noises startled him if he was caught off-guard, and he still woke in the middle of the night in cold sweats, the memory of air raid sirens ringing dully in his ears. But for all that he struggled, Alfred was much worse for wear. 

His disposition would shift suddenly from day to day and moment to moment, and Alfred was always distant, even if they were sitting just beside each other on the cabriole. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time a charming grin had streaked across Alfred’s handsome face, or the last time he had heard the sweet laugh that never failed to make him smile. Alfred was gloomy and often lost in a reverie, and if Arthur snapped him out of it, he would become moody and high-strung. If he wasn’t brooding, he was irritable and ready to lash out at the drop of a hat. 

Arthur had never been afraid of Alfred, but he found himself tiptoeing around the ex-pilot, wary of accidentally setting off one of Alfred’s sudden fits of ire. There was still a chip in the kitchen wall from when Alfred had once sent a teacup shattering against the wall when he was annoyed, and Arthur had been shaken to the core as he had swept the remains of one of his favourite cups into the bin. It had been a strong reminder of the stark contrast between the Alfred he had met before the war and the one that had returned from the American Embassy hospital stationed in London, and his eyes still vaguely stung with the memory of the tears that had fallen as he swept. 

Arthur peered into the mirror and straightened the collar of his dress shirt, also adjusting the sleeves of his argyle sweater. His face looked gaunt and exhausted in his reflection, and the heavy bags beneath his eyes made his face seem paler and more angular than it already was. Arthur couldn’t help but sigh. 

He could hear rummaging from the living room, the jiggling of a lock, and he knew at once that Alfred was back from his routine morning run. When the door wasn’t closed with a loud slam that would rattle the very foundation of the building, he didn’t bother holding back a relieved exhale. A quiet entrance meant a quiet morning.

Arthur stepped out from their shared bedroom and closed the door behind himself quietly. Alfred was toeing off his running shoes in the hallway, dressed sloppily in an old muscle shirt that would have been considered indecent to wear in public, if it wasn’t so early in the morning, long before the city was awake. 

Alfred was clutching his arm with a grimace, rubbing at the taut limb and injured shoulder. He had been trapped in his B-17 after being gunned down by a German Messerschmitt, and shrapnel from flak had lodged into his upper left arm and shoulder. The already-wounded limb had been on the receiving end of the subsequent abuse at the hands of the Gestapo after he was captured, among other things. It wasn’t the worst of his injuries, but it was one of the most recurring aches. 

Arthur walked over silently and nudged Alfred’s hand off his shoulder, where he was rubbing the aching joint too aggressively. “Sit,” he instructed, pointing to the worn little loveseat on the opposite wall, hardly leaving room for argument by his tone but praying that Alfred wouldn’t attempt to argue, just this once. 

Alfred scowled and blinked long, blond lashes from behind the lens of newly-acquired glasses. It was the second pair he had gotten since the end of the war, and it was obvious from the way he couldn’t stop adjusting them that he wasn’t used to wearing glasses yet. 

_“I think they look quite dashing, love.” Arthur’s tone was lilted and teasing, though the compliment did hold truth. It was odd to see Alfred wearing glasses, but the thin red frames made him look older, more intelligent. Alfred blinked owlishly behind the lenses, wearing a shy grin and fidgeting with with their position on the bridge of his nose._

_“You really think so? I don’t know about that, but it sure is nice to see clearly again.” Alfred wore a soft expression and the way his hand twitched at his side belied his desire to reach out and touch Arthur. But they were in a public shop, and the optometrist was already eyeing them suspiciously from behind the counter. “You know, it feels really good to be able to see your pretty eyes again,” he murmured, and Arthur was reminded of why he had fallen in love with this sunny American._

Alfred let out a shuddering, pained gasp as Arthur applied more pressure to the tense knot of muscle on his upper arm. Arthur struggled to maintain a stoic expression, which was hardly difficult after months of not having smiled. Mouth set into a grim line, he rubbed the ball of Alfred’s shoulder, feeling the slightly uneven skin of scar tissue beneath the flimsy shirt, before standing to sift through the mess on the coffee table for a clean compression bandage. 

Alfred’s eyes were closed when he turned back around to wrap the bandage, but a hand clamped tightly around his wrist before he could even begin wrapping it around his injured shoulder. Arthur let out a pained gasp, and the small roll fell from his hand.

“Don’t. I don’t need it.” Alfred’s voice was dangerously close to a growl and Arthur’s eyes, at first surprised and wide, quickly narrowed into a venomous glare.

“Fine,” he spat, wrenching his hand free violently. It was by miracle alone that his wrist didn’t cleanly snap. “Suffer, for all that I could possibly care.”

He had tried so hard to be patient, gentle, understanding- anything that Alfred needed. He had taken to changing his habits, no longer playing playing music after Alfred began to develop awful headaches (though he was certain that it had more to do with Alfred being too stubborn to wear his glasses, rather than the sweet tunes of Glenn Miller). He had limited himself to only drinking tea when Alfred was out, lest the shrill screech of his ornery teapot bother his temperamental beau, and even avoided baking altogether. 

But now he was nearing the end of his limits, and he was dreadfully close to simply losing his wits and storming out on Alfred, despite the years shared between them, spread thick and thin by all the events since Alfred had set foot on English soil.

_The obnoxious laughter that flooded the hall couldn’t be anything other than American. Although American pilots, sent over to aid the RAF in air battles and bombing missions, had come in droves that nearly drained Arthur’s cabaret of liquor in its entirety, there was one particular laugh that stood out among the discordant shouting and jeering. He heard that particular laugh nearly every night without fail, or if not, then every other night._

_Arthur scowled from behind the counter, still wiping a glass dry and extremely tempted to take a deep swig of strong sherry himself. The raucous, loud conversations from across the room were a jarring change from the silence he had become accustomed to after months of being devoid of customers, and he almost craved the familiar silence again._

_“Hey sugar, are you rationed?”_

_God, that arrogant grin. It matched everything about him-- those overwhelmingly distracting blue eyes, his cocky manner of languidly striding forward to order drinks, the obnoxious way that he drawled out his words and stretched them until each word sounded five syllables too long. Nevermind that handsome face and easygoing, charming grin; Arthur couldn’t stand him. Yet he was the one who visited every night, and always found a reason to approach him. With a grit jaw, Arthur set the glass down and leant forward onto the counter, palms pressed flat against the worn wood._

_“Sugar has been rationed for the last few years. This is a cabaret lounge, and you’ll only find nightly entertainment and liquor here. Unless you all manage to drink my establishment dry. I’m beginning to think it’s very likely.”_

_Arthur tried to sound clipped and formal, but the irritation had crept into his tone. If anything, it seemed to have amused the American, and he leant forward as well, enough to make Arthur back away to keep a proper distance._

_“I might stick around for some nightly entertainment, if you’re the one providing it.”_

_Arthur was stupefied for exactly one moment, before he blushed red to the roots of his hair and nearly dove for the American’s neck._

Arthur’s wrist ached where it had been gripped at too tightly, and he could distantly tell that Alfred was recognising that he had gripped too tightly from the way that sky blue eyes widened imperceptibly. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Alfred muttered, not meeting his gaze. He began to pull off his shirt as he walked into the hall, giving Arthur a glimpse of the silvery scars that marred his back and shoulders. 

Dully registering the pain in his wrist, Arthur rubbed at the sore joint listlessly. He almost couldn’t remember Alfred’s laugh, or his sweet bed-talk and promises of growing old together. It had all been drowned out amidst the the wailing cries of air raid sirens at two in the morning, and the endless hours of desperately listening to the dismal drone of radio reports to hear any bit of news about the infamous Old Bessie, Alfred’s Flying Fortress. It had all been drowned out from waking up to Alfred’s panicked shouts in the middle of the night after nightmares, and hearing his voice lift in frustration in a way it never had before, and seeing the dark, gloomy expression that was out of place on a face that had, at one point, never gone without the grin Arthur had fallen in love with. 

_It was two in the morning, and it would have been the first night in weeks that Arthur hadn’t woken to the memory air raid sirens wailing or the thunderous, ground-shaking booms of bombs exploding mere streets away. Alfred was rolling listlessly in bed, sweating and letting out hushed, fearful whimpers._

_Arthur had just been about to wake him from what seemed to be a nightmare, when Alfred twitched and let out a horrified, bloodcurdling shout, scratching at his arms in his sleep. Arthur nearly fell out of bed in surprise, but caught himself and frantically crawled to Alfred’s side, shaking his uninjured shoulder in an attempt to rouse him out of sleep. It was a foolish mistake; a moment later, Alfred swung his arm and the back of his hand connected painfully with Arthur’s jaw. His jaw slammed shut with a loud crack of his teeth, and he could feel the sharp pain bloom on his tongue. The bitter, coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth and his ears rang dully._

_Arthur still attempted to keep Alfred’s arms from flailing, this time keeping an eye out for any other potential strikes to the face, and straddled him, holding one strong arm in place._

_“Alfred, wake up!” he shouted, swallowing past the blood in his mouth and the bile that had risen to the back of his throat. Alfred violently trembled before his eyes suddenly opened, pupils dilated and gaze eerily unfocused and terrified. He was wheezing, chest heaving to bring air into his lungs, and he was struggling to fully wake up._

_Arthur watched helplessly, and he was too in shock and frightened to even know what to do. His jaw was beginning to throb, and he was momentarily distracted by the thought that his jaw may have been broken, before Alfred began to sit upright, back in the moment._

_Alfred licked his dry lips and still looked unsettled and disgruntled, eyes bloodshot and wet. “I’ll be damned,” he breathed out, voice croaking. His face was as pale as a sheet, and he wiped at his eyes when he realised that they had been running._

_Quietly, Arthur shifted back to sit on his haunches, eyeing Alfred with concern and still just the slightest hint of fear. “Are you..?”_

_“I..I-I’m fine.” Alfred blew out a puff of air, letting out a tremulous exhale and running his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair with a self-conscious, choked laugh. He looked as though he was barely holding himself together. “Don’t know what got into me. I’m sorry for waking you, honey.”_

_“It’s fine.” Arthur’s words were slurred from the way his jaw was locked, and Alfred was quick to notice. Eyes the soft, romantic colour of forget-me-nots honed in on the ugly bruise the was forming on Arthur’s swelling cheek, illuminated by the flood of silvery moonlight pouring in from a crack in the window. Arthur was painted in hues of silver, white, and platinum, all except the dark mottling of his cheek._

_Alfred’s mouth fell open and he began to sputter, eyes blown wide and fearful. “I didn’t.. I didn’t do that, did I?”_

_Arthur didn’t say anything but he winced, and it seemed to have been enough of a wordless response, because he was suddenly enveloped by Alfred’s warm, solid body, held flush against his broad chest._

_Alfred tenderly cupped his chin and tilted his face up toward the faint stream of moonlight coming in from the window, stroking the bruise gently with the pad of his thumb and looking so utterly remorseful that Arthur gave a weak smile and patted Alfred’s shoulder. “It was an accident. We need to sleep, forget it.”_

_But he didn’t forget it._

In a sudden bout of anger, Arthur realised he had been mourning the entire time, when he ought to have been rightfully angry and just as demanding as Alfred had been ever since the very first mood swing.

Heading back to the bedroom, Arthur furiously stripped off his clothing and put on nothing but the soft cotton robe Alfred had given him months ago as a gift. The hinges of the bathroom door were well-oiled and didn’t make a sound as he stepped inside. Clouds of steam had accumulated in the small room and the sweet scent of Alfred’s soaps, carried in the heavy vapour, hit him like a freight train. 

Alfred had a habit of facing away from the showerhead, and it was easy for Arthur to sneak a hand past the ruffled shower curtains to twist the water knob from hot to cold. He waited patiently for a moment, perching himself atop the marbled countertop, and simply watching, _waiting_.

He didn’t have to wait for long before Alfred let out a strangled shout and nearly ripped the shower curtains off the rod in his haste to step away from the icy water. Face expertly blank, only the smallest hint of a smirk was twitching at the corners of Arthur’s lips. Alfred’s hair was dark and dripping with water, and his eyes, wide-open in shock, quickly narrowed into suspicion and fury. 

“What the hell, Arthur? That wasn’t damn funny!” Alfred stood so much taller and wider, and though Arthur himself was hardly a weak lightweight, Alfred was inarguably stronger. But he didn’t flinch away when Alfred stepped in close, mouth curled into a nasty snarl, nor did he duck his head down to mollify the situation when the former sweetheart began to yell right in his face. Instead, he straightened his back and tipped his chin up defiantly.

“The window is wide open. Not only can the neighbours hear you, but they can also see your rear if they glance out the window at this very moment,” Arthur informed calmly. True to his word, the large bathroom window was wide-open, and angled just right for the neighbours to see into the little room whenever the curtains weren’t drawn. 

Alfred looked over his shoulder in confusion, before his face flushed bright red to the roots of his hair. The window really was wide open, and it was only because it was so early in the morning that the nosy neighbours weren’t peeking out their window. He quickly snatched a towel to wrap around his naked hips, head lowered and face dismayed in shame. 

Still just as calm, Arthur dropped from the counter to nudge the swing door of the window into place, hooking the little latch and drawing the lacy curtains he had stitched by hand. Although he was amused by how efficiently his little trick had worked, his expression remained level and incredibly serious.

“You looked about ready to rip my head from my shoulders, Alfred. Over a cold shower, do you realise?” He spoke at length, not meeting Alfred’s bewildered gaze. “I’m _not_ afraid of you, don’t think for a moment that I am. But it’s still a bit alarming to see how much you’ve changed.” 

Arthur finally gave in to a sad smile, eyeing Alfred up and down, no longer feeling the urge to flinch like before whenever he saw the thick scar tissue that marred his bicep and shoulder, or the silvery, raised indents on his torso where he had been shallowly stabbed and scratched during interrogations. Reaching out to brush the hair from Alfred’s eyes, Arthur used the same hand that had been roughly snatched earlier. 

Alfred’s gaze flickered to and lingered on the dark colouring along the inside of his wrist, already mottled pink and plum, and Arthur spotted the exact moment that Alfred’s composure chipped and began to crack. 

Fat tears flooded those sky-blue eyes and began to roll down his cheeks. Arthur watched in slight alarm as Alfred crumpled to the ground without a fight, instinctively wrapping his arms around his knees to hide himself away as the tears began to fall harder and harder. He was crying outright, with heaving sobs that racked his shoulders. Alfred reminded Arthur of a pitiful child crying alone on a playground, and he sank onto the floor right alongside him to drag his trembling body into a tight embrace. Alfred may have been bigger than him in most respects, but he felt painfully brittle and fragile in Arthur’s arms, the bumps of his spine protruding against Arthur’s fingertips.

“Hush, Alfred, it’s all right,” Arthur soothed, rocking gently side to side and cradling Alfred close, feeling just the slightest bit of normalcy again. It wasn’t normal for Alfred to break into hideous sobs, but it was much more natural than the living with a cold-shouldered being as he had been for the last few months. 

Alfred’s wet hair and chest were soaking Arthur’s robe uncomfortably wet but he didn’t say a word, carding his fingers through soft, golden hair in a wordless attempt to console his hurting partner. He could hardly make out what Alfred was trying to say, but the utterly upset, sad sound of Alfred repeatedly mumbling apologies into his chest was more than enough for Arthur, when all he had wanted was for Alfred to snap out of the odd, bitter trance he had been living in the last few months. 

If Alfred needed to crumble completely before he could be built back up, then Arthur wouldn’t mind being the one that Alfred was falling onto. 

Alfred’s shuddering sobs slowly began to die down, but his nose remained piteously red and swollen, eyes still brimmed with tears and awfully bloodshot. He stood slowly, and dragged Arthur up with him.

“Arthur, Artie, I’m so sorry, I’m so damn sorry. I didn’t even realise what I was doing or that I was hurting you.” Alfred’s voice cracked mid-sentence, and he looked devastated. There were still tears lining his lashes, and the small quiver of his lower lip revealed how much of a struggle it was for him not to cry again. “You don’t have to, ‘cause Heaven knows I don’t deserve it, but please forgive me honey. I need you to forgive me.”

“I forgive you, Alfred. It’s ridiculous to think for even a moment that I wouldn’t. Come here.” 

Despite his scolding tone, Arthur was smiling for the first time in a long while. Craning his neck, he slanted his lips over Alfred’s, pressing them together tenderly, promising love with unspoken words. It almost felt as though the stagnant last few months had been an odd sort of trance, in which neither he nor Alfred would kiss or interact beyond the distant formality and cordiality shared between flatmates, if even that. 

He would much rather pretend that the last few months had merely been a bad fantasy that he had just been snapped from. 

“You still have soap in your hair, you tart.” Arthur sifted his fingers down the soapy locks of hair near Alfred’s temple. With the other hand, he pulled loose the ribbon holding the robe in place at his waist and allowed the fabric to glide off his shoulders like expensive silk. 

Alfred’s eyes flashed downward and lingered on his body, drinking in the sight. Arthur instinctively wanted to hide beneath the robe again, but it was absurd to be self conscious when Alfred had been in the nude the entire time. Arthur took him by the hand and coaxed him back toward the bath, pausing only to adjust the water temperature until it was warm, bordering on hot, again.

“It was ridiculous to become angry over something so simple,” he chided, breathing in the scent of Alfred’s skin, head lightly resting against his broad chest as the water warmed. It had been so long since they had last touched like that, and Alfred seemed to be thinking the same thing, if the way that he was lightly grazing his fingertips down the curve of Arthur’s back was any indicator. Arthur brushed his lips along Alfred’s sternum, bringing their bodies flush.

“I know, and I’m real sorry, sweetheart. I hadn’t even realised that I was like that, all angry and a stupid grump.” Alfred’s voice was a low rumble and he sounded genuinely contrite, lips pressed against Arthur’s scalp. Arthur smiled fondly and languidly drifted his fingertips along Alfred’s body, not at all hesitant about touching the endless scars that littered his body, stroking down to the soft trail of hair that led down from the blond’s navel. 

“If this ever happens again, the next time I’ll do much more than just turn down the water temperatures, you know,” Arthur warned casually, fingers skirting away as he began to nearly reach as low as Alfred’s groin. 

“It’s not gonna happen again, and if it does, then I deserve whatever you have comin’ for me,” Alfred promised in earnest, relaxing beneath Arthur’s touch and ducking beneath the warm spray of water. He was blocking Arthur from being directly beneath showerhead, but it was hardly a problem. Arthur nudged him closer and closer to the shower wall until Alfred let out a hiss from coming into contact with the cool wall, and finally began to kiss him deeply. 

He ignored the way that water streamed down their faces, only focused on the soft feeling of Alfred’s lips moving against his own and the hands that were tentatively wandering down his sides. Arthur let out a pleased, encouraging sigh against Alfred’s mouth, and backed firmly into the touch. The months of going by without a single caress were suddenly catching up to him and he wanted to feel every inch of his body pressing against warm, slick skin.

Arthur grazed his lips along the hard line of his jaw and shuddered at the rough sensation against his sensitive skin. Alfred’s face was slightly scratchy with the light morning stubble he hadn’t gotten rid of yet.

“Hot water’s gonna run out real quick if we don’t get going,” Alfred reminded in a low, reluctant mumble, voice as sweet as honey and still dripping with hints of that Virginian drawl that remained unchanged, despite the months of living in London. 

Alfred reached out for the small bar of white soap resting on a high shelf, working a lather onto Arthur’s skin. Arthur nearly melted with a loud gasp when his hands began to knead at the tense knots in his shoulders, and he would have stumbled forward on the wet, slick tiles if Alfred wasn’t holding him in place by the hip. He already knew how much it pleased Arthur to have his back stroked or rubbed, and had done it on purpose.

Arthur let out a deep, shuddering sigh and allowed his head to hang forward as Alfred ran soapy fingers along his shoulder blades. His fingers weren’t as calloused as they used to be following the war, toughened and hardened from clutching the control wheels, and now they were pleasant against his skin. 

“Feel good, honey?” Alfred was murmuring just beside his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Just a smidge.” 

Alfred chuckled, and Arthur’s head lolled to the side as he leant back against his broad chest for support. Alfred’s hands were gently caressing and washing his skin, but his head had fallen to rest in the crook of Arthur’s shoulder. Turning in his embrace, he wrapped his arms around the ex-pilot’s scarred upper body and pressed his lips to every inch of skin he could reach without needing to stretch onto the tips of his toes. 

Alfred let out a shuddery breath, and leant heavily into the touch. "I know I haven't said in a long time, but I love you so much that it’s criminal. I loved you from the very first day, and I haven't stopped lovin' you since." 

Arthur’s heart warmed and he cupped Alfred’s face, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. 

“I know, Alfred. And I love you.”

Alfred pressed sweetly into the kiss, hands lowering down to Arthur’s hips to guide him back against the wall, his lips twitching into a grin at the other’s hiss of protest against the cold. Still, Arthur brushed his fingers against the back of Alfred’s neck and curled them into the soft blond hair near his nape, holding him close. The other hand kept balance on his shoulder, and Alfred braced himself with one forearm against the damp wall, the other steadied on Arthur’s hip.

Something was beginning to poke against the inside of Arthur’s thigh, and he realised with delight that Alfred was becoming _excited_.

“Take me to bed,” he whispered against Alfred’s lips, unabashed. 

Alfred stiffened against him, but he could hear his sharp intake of breath. Arthur grinned loosely when Alfred hastily shut off the water, his strong hands slipping under his thighs to hitch him up. Arthur wrapped his legs around his hips to keep steady, and Alfred’s left hand wandered up to his back to hold him close. 

They stepped out of the shower and Arthur hardly noticed that they were going down the hall and crossing into the bedroom, too distracted by layering kisses all along the knotted scar tissue of Alfred’s shoulder. He only realised they were in the bedroom moments later when Alfred lowered him onto the bed. His younger lover playfully pounced onto the bed, making Arthur bounce a few inches off the mattress. It made him roll his eyes but grin.

“Come here,” he instructed, crooking one finger and propping himself onto his elbow. Alfred crawled forward obediently, although he stopped to press a kiss to Arthur’s hip first.

With a pleased hum, Arthur wrapped an arm around Alfred’s neck, dragging his lips down his jaw to kiss along his collarbones. Alfred always tensed whenever Arthur brushed his fingertips down the scars that marred his back and shoulders, and Arthur knew by now that it was out of fear that he would one day become revolted by the sight of his heavy scarring. It would never happen though, and he pressed a reassuring kiss to the ball of his shoulder. 

Alfred’s larger frame hovered over him, but Arthur sat up and brought himself into Alfred’s lap, taking him by surprise and making him fall back lightly onto the mattress. Pleased, Arthur trailed his fingers over the new expanse of skin revealed to him, touching every scar that lingered along his stomach and sides until Alfred’s chest was rising and falling unevenly. Arthur’s eyes flickered upward to catch his expression as he leant in to kiss the largest scar on his side, a harsh, jagged slash that had been purely intended to torture. Alfred bit his lip and looked away, but seemed drawn back each time that Arthur paid attention to another scar, kissing the pale skin until Alfred was beginning to tremble.

Tenderly, Arthur nuzzled his nose along the bump of his hipbone, brushing his lower lip against the protruding bone and not missing the way that Alfred’s breath hitched, this time in a different way. Sinking lower and lower, he taunted Alfred, skipping down past the part of him that needed the most attention to nip his toned thighs, feeling the muscle twitch beneath the skin as he kissed his way up. Alfred let out a low, frustrated huff, and Arthur laughed against his skin.

“Don’t complain, love, it’s all in good time,” he promised, before reaching a hand out to wrap around Alfred’s hard cock, finally giving the shaft a light stroke. Alfred was caught off guard and his back arched, pupils blown wide and eyelashes fluttering as he struggled not to moan at the simple touch. Arthur was pleased, and as be began to lightly squeeze and stroke the hard shaft, he also leant in to press a kiss to the rosy, shapely head. 

Alfred couldn’t hold back a loud, choked noise and tipped his head back against the pillows. Arthur began to suck, hand still touching the rest of him, and gave little flicks of his tongue, sucking along the shaft. The way that Alfred’s hands were fisting the sheets uncontrollably gave him a surge of confidence, and he wrapped his lips around the head, daring to take a few inches into his mouth. Alfred couldn’t help himself and reached down to knit his fingers into Arthur’s drying hair, the other hand still holding on tightly to the sheets.

“Oh my god, baby, it’s been so long,” Alfred whined, head falling back and eyes slipping closed. The hand in Arthur’s hair gently pressed him forward, though it was the unexpected little thrust of his hips that nearly made him choke. 

Pulling off just to wipe the saliva off his chin, Arthur took a ragged breath and leant into the hand that came up to gently stroke his cheek, pressing a kiss onto the pad of Alfred’s thumb before lowering himself again, this time a bit more cautious and ready for any thrusts of his hips. Whenever his gaze flickered upward to judge a reaction, he was greeted by the sight of Alfred’s heavily flushed face, those perfect white teeth clamped down hard onto his pink lower lip to hold back his moaning. 

When Alfred’s grip on his hair tightened and his hips began to rock imperceptibly, Arthur knew he was coming near his release and pressed Alfred’s hand more firmly into his hair, inviting him to guide him lower, even as he began to suck harder, fluctuating between kisses to the sensitive head and licking down the shaft. 

“I-I’m gonna, _oh god_ , Artie, I’m gonna…” 

Alfred was moaning unintelligibly, as though Arthur didn’t already know, and he rubbed his palm down a taut, twitching thigh, eyelashes fluttering shut. A moment later, Alfred’s hips thrust upward and he let out a low, desperate cry as he came, hand still tightly holding onto Arthur’s hair. Arthur swallowed the milky release in his mouth and licked his lips clean, before clambering onto Alfred’s lap and drawing him into a deep kiss. Alfred stroked his hair sweetly in apology for the way he had been roughly tugging, and if Arthur’s lips tasted like him in any way, he didn’t say anything or make a face.

“I missed that,” he mumbled, stroking Arthur’s cheek and tracing the outline of his lower lip with his thumb. Arthur’s eyelashes fluttered shut and he parted his lips, teasing the edge of his thumbnail with his tongue. Alfred shuddered deeply and, holding on tight to Arthur’s hip with one hand, rolled him over. Arthur blinked in surprise but didn’t complain, hitching one long leg up to wrap around his hip. 

Alfred hesitated for a moment, biting down on his lower lip. “You sure you want this, Artie?”

Arthur was struck by fondness for the lovely boy hovering above him and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Yes love, I’m sure. I want you,” he promised as he reached up to link his fingers behind Alfred’s neck, pulling the man down into another kiss. Alfred smiled happily against his lips and pressed him further against the pillows, easily taking control of the kiss and making it slow, deep. Arthur felt ready to melt into the bed sheets, but his firm touches and the way his lips were coaxing a reaction from his own kept him tethered.

Alfred reached for the jar of cold cream that Arthur kept on the bedside table, twisting off the cap and dipping in two fingers. Arthur clung to him and spread his legs apart with slight embarrassment as Alfred lowered his hand between his legs. There was the slightest brush of a knuckle against his sensitive inner thighs before two cold, slick fingers circled around him, making his breath stutter and catch in his throat. They pushed in, and he let out a weak moan, burying his face into Alfred’s chest.

“Easy there, honey.” 

Alfred laughed quietly and Arthur dug his heel into his side in turn, receiving a kiss on the forehead. He began to slowly scissor and stretch his fingers open, coming close to striking the hypersensitive spot that made Arthur keen. 

It may have been months since the last time they had gotten together, but Arthur began to feel the desperation rising in his chest. Carding his fingers through Alfred’s hair, he captured the boy’s attention and distracted him from the sight of his own fingers stretching him open. The way that he would watch attentively never failed to make Arthur blush furiously.

“Alfred, _please_ , I’m ready.”

Alfred gnawed on his lip a moment as he mulled over whether or not he had prepared Arthur enough, before giving in. “Promise to tell me if it’s too much,” he warned, voice breaking in midsentence and concern briefly washing over his features. Arthur’s expression softened and he promised, reaching for the cold cream to smear onto Alfred’s cock and stroke him into full hardness. His face melted into bliss, and Arthur was pleased by the moan that rumbled low in his throat. 

Grasping himself in hand, Alfred began to nudge forward, pressing between his spread legs and caressing the soft skin of his inner thighs. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat as he was penetrated, letting out a raw, shuddery breath as Alfred pressed in deeply, after months of nothing but his hand on rare occasion. There was the dull ache of being filled, but it was nothing compared to the sudden burst of pleasure when Alfred pulled his hips back and thrusted again slowly. He wasn’t close to that spot inside him, but there was pleasure in the movement itself, and Arthur made his satisfaction known. 

“Oh _Arthur_ ,” Alfred moaned, his lovely blue eyes heavily lidded and mouth slack. His face was taking on a deep, pretty flush, and Arthur could feel his hands tightening on his hips. Alfred peppered kisses all along his cheeks, as though attempting to kiss each of the freckles and birthmarks that stained Arthur’s cheeks and nose. 

Arthur let out a quiet whine and rocked his hips downward, making it clear what he wanted. “Alfred, _please_ …”

Alfred laughed breathlessly. “Sorry, your majesty.” 

Nuzzling his face into the crook of Arthur’s shoulder, Alfred began to thrust, slowly picking up the pace and putting strength behind the movement of his hips. The soft sound of flesh striking flesh resonated in the room, interrupted only by the sound of Arthur crying out when Alfred angled himself just right and struck his prostate. 

Arthur could hardly think past the overwhelming pleasure, but he forced himself to open his eyes, focusing on Alfred’s face and watching his expressions, the way that his mouth would fall open to let out silent gasps, or how his eyelids would lower to half-mast and his eyelashes would sweep across his cheeks. 

Alfred caught his gaze and dipped in for a kiss. He was still rocking his hips, keeping up with a heady rhythm that made the Briton desperately claw at the sheets and arch his back, but Arthur was more distracted by the way that Alfred still found a way to tenderly kiss him breathless. 

He was dangerously close to spilling over, stamina spread thin by the number of months since Alfred had touched him like this. He pulled Alfred closer, scratching his short nails down the American’s back and leaving faint pink traces among the heavy scarring in his back, a secret weakness that made him whine and close his eyes. Arthur’s head tipped back and he let out a choked cry as Alfred thrusted deep and drove home, hitting the sweet spot inside him that made him feel dizzy with pleasure. 

Alfred mouthed along his exposed neck and collar, all thin, chapped lips and flashes of teeth. His thrusting was quickly beginning to lose all semblance of rhythm and the movement of his hips became desperate and frenzied.

“Oh bloody fuck, _A-Alfred_!”

A shudder rippled through Arthur as he came between their bodies, mouth open in a silent scream and eyes tightly shut. His body felt sensitive and highly stimulated as Alfred continued to thrust, milking his orgasm and still striking into his prostate, enough to tear whimpers and low, breathless moans from his throat. They were pressed flush, chest to chest, and Arthur pressed a kiss to Alfred’s cheek as he came, blue eyes hazy and lidded, cheeks flushed a lovely hue and mouth open in a call for Arthur’s name. 

Arthur felt unbearably warm and sticky once the high slowly began to rescind, but Alfred’s expression of spent bliss and exhaustion was enough to keep him in place, just to watch his lover regain his senses and recover from his own high. As he shifted his legs, he could feel the warmth of Alfred’s release dribbling down between his thighs and openly grimaced, but resolved to bear it and replace the sheets after. 

Alfred blinked and slowly began to refocus on his face, those blue eyes filled with love and adoration that warmed Arthur right down to his toes. 

“Hey, you,” Alfred murmured, his voice a low, pleasant rumble that sounded intimate and just right in the dim, though brightening, room. 

“Hello yourself.” Arthur watched as Alfred shifted and rolled off him carefully, only to press against his side and wrap an arm around him snugly. 

“I missed you, Artie. I missed you so much.” Alfred’s voice sounded strangely emotional, and though Arthur had closed his eyes, he could feel his stare and could almost imagine the small quiver that would be touching upon his lips and the way that he would look so impossibly young and vulnerable. His heart swelled for the precious boy holding him close.

“Oh, Alfred. I missed you too, love.”

Alfred pressed a gentle kiss to his closed eyelids, wrapping an arm around his broad little shoulders and holding him close to his body. Arthur languidly blinked open his eyes, smiling up at Alfred tenderly and kissing the soft underside of his throat. 

“I’m never gonna lose you like that again. I think I’ll die if I ever forget how it feels to hold you like this again, I-I…I wouldn’t be able to handle it and I-” 

Arthur gently cupped Alfred’s face in both hands, effectively hushing him and catching his attention. “You never lost me. I was always here. You simply forgot that I was here, but I won’t ever allow it again. I love you too much to allow that to happen again, Alfred.” Flushing under the intense blue gaze that was centred on him, Arthur cleared his throat carefully and darted his gaze away. “So listen well, because I’ll say it once more, but I won’t say it again. I am in love with you, Alfred, and I won’t ever let you leave me like that again.” 

When he finally braved looking back at Alfred, he was met with a watery smile and baby blues that were rimmed with tears. The soft vulnerability of it all made him lose his heart to Alfred all over again. 

“Now hush up and kiss me,” he mumbled, to cover the embarrassment of exposing his emotions. But Alfred said nothing, only pulled him in close to hold him dear and kissed him, so deeply and lovingly that Arthur could feel the very promise behind the kiss: _I’m never going to leave you again_.

**Author's Note:**

> _Arthur rolled over onto his side to face Alfred, unused to the feeling of pleasant ache and the leftover euphoria that made him feel sluggish. He peppered kisses along Alfred’s neck, one kiss for every mark that he had left behind on his golden skin. “It’s been on my mind since the very first day. How...How did you know that I’m inclined toward, well, men? I had thought that I covered my preferences very well.”_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Alfred’s eyebrows lifted and he seemed surprised by the question, before he broke into a grin. His hands came lower to cup his waist, stroking the bare skin gently, a stark contrast to the smouldering, heavy touches from awhile earlier. “That’s easy as pie. Any straight man woulda punched me square in the face if I walked up to him and asked him if he was rationed.”_


End file.
